


You Don’t Have to Be Nice

by essentialpolice



Series: In Which: Marco Spends Days with Shanks [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Begging, Freeform, Love Triangle, M/M, Unrequited Love, coping with loss, uncertain future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essentialpolice/pseuds/essentialpolice
Summary: Inspired by “A Sea Chanty of Sorts” by Margo and the Nuclear-So-and-So’s.Shanks and Marco back-and-forth after the death of Ace and Whitebeard.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco, Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Portgas D. Ace
Series: In Which: Marco Spends Days with Shanks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900675
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	You Don’t Have to Be Nice

_just pour yourself a cup of coffee_   
_leave anytime, you don’t have to be right_

An uncomfortable shift between the two men; the breeze of the sea ruffling capes and jackets, hands finding clothes in places they didn’t know they could grab.

It had been three days, and Marco had found himself splitting at every edge he knew possible, unable to leave the side of Shanks: the only comfort in the sea of uncertainty. Anxiety so loud, so present and thundering he couldn’t bare to be alone. He couldn’t fucking stand it, he couldn’t fucking stand to be around the rest of the crew. They were all so hopeless, so lost, so alone—

“You need to go back sometime, Marco.”

He didn’t want to go back. He yanked Shanks closer, slamming the younger to his chest, looking him in the face. Why had things turned out this way? They both were struggling, chests burning, Marco holding back a steady stream of tears—threatening to burst over if he left, if he moved, if he acknowledged the fate of Pops and Ace.

_you’ve gotta live the best you know how_

And there was a hand soothing has back, gripping the jacket that clung desperately to his skin. He didn’t feel safe, he wanted to run away, wanted to fly away from the scene and never look back. He didn’t know what to do with himself, how to cope, the crushing weight on his chest flustering him and making him shift even in front of Akagami. The other could tell his nerves were blown, and he himself didn’t know how to aid in his time of need.

_and if you love, well, that should be enough  
instead: it turns your joy into sorrow_

They were the only two people in the world right now who had an inkling of this feeling. Others were mourning, but their lives would go on. Even Shanks’ would go on, after time. Marco felt at a standstill, as if something with him had departed his body and left with every sense of brevity in the world. There was nothing left, nothing to do, everything to mourn. Nobody had told him losing Whitebeard would be this hard. The secondary blow fell into Ace; not even turning his back at the last moment. He could curse his grave for being so stupid, spit into the sea, slam his fists against the deck.

It would do no good. Sobs wracked his chest.

_and i can’t breathe, with the dust of retreat_   
_i’m choking on the fumes of my wayward back_

This was to be expected. The life of pirates was to be cut short, time and time and time again. Eras came and went. Time was fluid and not stable. He himself did not know when their numbers would be called and when they would go. How they would go. Should they have went instead of Ace? Shanks gave Marco a knowing look, again gripping with a ferocity that grounded him to the moment. He tried to inhale deeply, the scent of the sea clinging to his nostrils. It just smelled acrid, disgraceful. The stench of blood and death hadn’t yet evaded him. Marco figured it would be ingrained into his senses for the rest of his life; tinges of it creeping up on him when he least expected it. He was so weak.

Shanks smoothed his hair aside, calloused fingers even shaking. There was no barrier between the two of them, words spilling out of the two with such fluidity the past nights and days. There was no holding back, no secrets of the one’s they’d love that could be kept tucked away. If they didn’t share the memories, they’d waste away. Someone needed to tell the words that had been spoken to them before they echoed into nothingness.

_and when we kissed,  
it didn’t feel poisonous_

A peppering of lips to forehead, jaw, cheekbones. Anywhere Shanks could reach, anywhere there were tears streaming along tanned flesh. When his lips left one location, they would move to another, fluttering and jolting about. There was no slowing the torrent of affection in an effort to comfort. Marco squirmed, writhed. Ace would have done the same, and it bothered him. More tears and more kissing. That was something he was never going to adjust to. How you could just have someone one second and then not, their touches nothing and the permeance of their existence meant nothing, they were nothing, never nothing, out of sight out of mind—

_and when you cried  
i dried off your blue eyes_

Now Shanks would take the edge of his cape, rubbing a cheek with it.

”Bastard, you don’t have to do any of that. You’re making me feel weaker than I already am, yoi.” A cracked grin. A shushing shake of the head from the red-head.

He kept up his ministrations, seconds of it turned to minutes, minutes to what felt like hours and what probably were. The sun dipped into the distant horizon and spilled orange rays over the deck of Shanks’ ship. None of his crew had bothered come out when they knew Marco was aboard. This was a moment that couldn’t be understood, couldn’t be despoiled by the outsiders who had not split even an ounce of the blond’s pain.

The tattoo on his chest felt like it throbbed, burned against his flesh. So much meaning in one symbol reduced to nothing, etchings of a loyalty erased in a singular day. It meant nothing now. He meant nothing now. Eyes met Shanks’, and he sniffled through tears. They’d shift away from the deck, moving to the cabin of the Captain. There was shifting, restless, on both parties. Words and questions unspoken before Marco looked at Shanks in the dim and fading light and uttered words. He felt above his body, so far away, so distant. He couldn’t sleep, eyes swollen and puffed. Shanks drew his body closer.

”How are we going to do this? How am I going to go on?”

”You’ve got to live the best you know how.”

_He smiles at me as he’s falling asleep,_ _says we've gotta live_   
_the best we know how to._


End file.
